


30 days of OC Exploration

by GenerallyGentle



Series: Oc drabbling dabbling [1]
Category: D&D (Base fandom/concept used), Original Work
Genre: And stoke my writing talent by being a sad queer and projecting, F/F, I just want to write some angst and some fluff, I'm not even gonna fucking bother making these long., It's a 30 day writing self-challenge what do you want from me?, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 10,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenerallyGentle/pseuds/GenerallyGentle
Summary: Admit it, it's about original characters. Unless you know me personally or have been following these plots on my tumblr you really don't care.Anyways, here's 30 days involving 30 different prompts of different types, for short stories, drabbles, and musings.





	1. Look Around, Look Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rat has some issues with... Ya know. Commitment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 1  
> Prompt: That Would Be Enough  
> Pairings: Rat/Koom  
> TWs: [None]  
> Bonus: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kK9c41WgNpc

"I promise. I promise I'll be home. I always come home."

And Koom sighs, the soft whisper of breath from between his beak.  
His eyes soften like the gentle give of wax beneath the candle wick's flame, and Rat catches the spark of stars against the obsidian backdrop, wild and raging and _burning_.

"I know." The words fall croak in the back of his throat as he pushes himself to his feet, hands wrapped around Rat's own to pull the tabaxi up besides him. "You always come home. - You're - the safest - person - I know... - But - it still doesn't - make me feel better. - That's not - the problem."

Koom pulls a hand from Rat's grip and runs it shakily through the feathers atop his head, the spark in his eyes has dwindled under the nervous ticking of his exterior, the soft crease of his eyes fading and crumbling.

"I need you - to think about it. - Please. - Look around - at us - at everything - that we've made." The spark flickers, soft, and dies, dulled under the sudden blur of the kenku's gaze. And Rat's heart clenches in his chest. "Look around - look at - our life. - I know that - you need - your time - your space. - But everything - that we've built... - We're waiting. - I'm waiting."

"I want to be - enough. - I want to be - a part of - your story. - I want to be - more than - your refuge, - I want to be - home. - Home - enough - for you to stay."

"Stay." Rat echoes, fingers intertwined with Koom's own, a lattice of warm acceptance - and he takes a moment to pause, to breathe.  
  
"I... I can try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before going forward, I thought it would be important to provide some pronunciation stuff.  
> Teknie: Tech-in-eye  
> Casiver: Cas-i-veer  
> Petkoris: Pet-core-iss (as in like what is found in "hiss"  
> Felwick: Fell-wick  
> Kodur: Co-dur  
> Diola: Die-o-la  
> Pharous: Fae-row-iss  
> Narean: Neigh-re-n  
> Have fun with my dumb oc stories I guess.


	2. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's the simple things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 2  
> Prompt: Promise you. Promise you.  
> Pairings: Rat/Koom  
> TWs: Suicide mention, Death mention  
> Bonus: https://www.boscovs.com/wcsstore/boscovs/images/store/product/images/3593665714r22774vteq10.jpg

The letter whispers of ideation... And Koom can only stand in his living room and wish himself elsewhere - closer to his lover, closer to this issue.  
A colorful kind of suicidal relapse smeared across the page under the elegant, quiet seeming cursive.

The resolution comes at the end, when the prose falls away into simple, scratchy writing.  
When the sentence falls apart and four individual words settle their meaning into the page harder then a million words of explanation.  
"I'm scared of dying."

Koom takes a deep breath, folding the letter back over itself and setting it onto the table, the fear and discomfort of this moment rolling from his feathers as he delves into the remainder of the contents tucked away within the envelope.

Within the confines he finds another reason to stamp down the growing concern overgrowing within his heart.  
A ring. Simple, scuffed gold adorned with a single tiger's eye gem in the middle.  
The 60gp tucked beneath it didn't even register, it didn't even matter at that point as he slipped it cautiously onto one of his fingers.

The gem reflected under the light of the candles and Koom found himself staring at for what felt like hours.  
A promise in the form of a gift.


	3. Post Nightmare Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new guest comes with new issues, and Petkoris muses in the dark of the caravan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 3  
> Prompt: Observations  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: Brief blood mention, brief violence/injury mention  
> Bonus: https://guycounseling.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/amber-golden-eyes-678x381.jpg

It always came back at night.  
Flashes of things from within the depths of his trance.  
And frankly, Petkoris was beginning get... Bothered.

The nightmares weren't an issue when he was on his own, they just bugged him and shorted him a few hours of trance, but at the end of the day he just... Moved on.  
But now? With someone else stashed away within the caravan? It was so much more of an issue.  
A problem for someone to notice. To bring up.

He sat on his bed, staring up at the wooden roof with narrowed, tired eyes.  
The images that haunted him bounced around inside his head and he absolutely could not shake them.  
The sight of bloodied fingers pulling away from his neck, the sharp sting fading into a dull ache as his body began to realize there was no longer an open wound to struggle with.  
The swirling water of the river. The empty campsite, fire stomped out and the tents obviously ripped from where they had been sat.

He rolled onto his side, swiping a hand over his face, jolting at the cold sweat that had developed along his hairline.  
From here his dark-vision could make out the cot positioned across the room, the gnome laid upon it with their head tucked partially beneath the pillow and the blankets half kicked off the cot entirely. He had already been asleep for hours at that point, having been left drowsy under the effect of the last few healing potions Petkoris had left.

They were the very definition of a gnome. A soft and round face, tanned skin sprinkled with swathes of freckles. Curly red hair stuck out in every direction, obviously well groomed but chaotic never-the-less.  
The fading bruise across the right side of his face was partially hidden between the mattress and the pillow, but Petkoris can't help but flinch at the sight of it - the thought that someone would take issue with a gnome perplexing him despite his previous experiences. 

He knew that... She... She was an outlier.  
Gnomes usually made very little in the way of enemies, their jovial attitudes possibly coming off as annoying but not in any way truly bothersome.  
Though, he wasn't stupid, he knew that unabashed cruelty existed. People doing something for the sake of... Entertainment... Or to stroke their own egos somehow. Kicking a dog, particularly when its down...

He comes out of his thoughts moments later, sight refocusing as his mind drags him from the semi-trance that he had managed to slip into, onto the be met with the soft glow of golden eye peaking at him from beneath the cot's pillow, a wiry smile creeping into existence beneath it.

"I forgot that elves don't sleep." Felwick says quietly, just barely audible above the rain outside. "I didn't know that you guys could trance with your eyes open though!"

And gods be damned. Petkoris can't help but laugh.


	4. No one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually me writing out a shitty shitty version of what I'm doing for NaNoWriMo!  
> In which Petkoris meets Felwick, and I don't know how to write anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 4  
> Prompt: No one else did.  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: Violence mentioned, Blood mentioned, Assault mentioned (sorta?)  
> Bonus: [None]

At first Petkoris had simply been annoyed. The crowd gathered besides the local pub -leading into one of the nearby alleyways- was starting to pull his customers in its direction.

But as he approached curiosity won out, and he found himself shouldering through the grouping of people - blessing his more lithe body type in comparison to the larger, more battle focused locals and trekking forward towards the front.

He had just wanted to see what had drawn attention, taken away from his show and his profits for the day...  
The result, however, was not particularly a wanted sort of outcome. 

The sight was absolutely revolting in his opinion.  
A high elf and a gnome the parties of interest.  
The high elf stood, a silver wand in one hand and a peculiar device in the other. The wand was pointed directly at the gnome's head and the other hand was motioning wildly, sending parts of the device within its grip flying or falling uselessly onto the grown below.  
The gnome was sat directly in the dirt, looking as if they were attempting to make a backwards retreat before being knocked down, his hands splayed out behind them and his legs at slightly awkward angles. He was staring up at the high elf from behind a bent pair of glasses, bruised face pulled up into a slight grimace as the elf continued on a tirade of shouting - none of the words Petkoris could make out from the pounding of blood in his ears.

Petkoris had never been particularly fond of unfair fights. And just from a glance this fight had been nothing but.  
And as light began to build at the tip of the elf's wand, and he watched the gnome's eyes tear up from behind the reflection, he couldn't hold his stupid fucking tongue.

"STOP IT!"  
-  
The fight hadn't been easy.  
Petkoris certainly wasn't the best spell caster out there, and illusion spells could only get you so far before you have to break out the weapons - not something he wanted to have on his record in this town, certainly...  
But it was over. Thankfully.

The gnome, who he learned was named "Felwick" from their brief interactions back and forth over the last few moments, was sat nervously in front of him as he wiped the blood from their face with the cleanest rag he had been able to find.  
The last few moments of the battle had bloodied the gnomes nose and broken his glasses in a few spots, on top of singeing several parts of Petkoris' face and arms before the elf had retreated into the alley - shouting obscenities the entire way.  
And from there they had settled just outside of town, Felwick begging not to go back to the inn, that he would be okay not going back, that they had all of their stuff and didn't need to go back...

Felwick had taken to fidgeting with the device that had been in the elf's grip, that had been luckily dropped as the coward had made his retreat. His face was bruised in several places, and it was obvious their nose was broken just from the awkward angle it was at... But they look overall okay. Out of the chaos at least.

"Thank you, by the way." He says it slowly, in an accent so familiar but so different in Petkoris' ears, and punctuates the sentence with a smile - blood contrasting against the white of their teeth. "You didn't have to step in like you did! I mean... Nobody else did."


	5. Out in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not every relationship is a good one.  
> Not every moment will feel worth living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 5  
> Prompt: Raining  
> Pairings: [None] (Rat/Kodur suggested in summary. They're a bad pair though.)  
> TWs: Abuse suggested, Assault suggested, Blood mentioned  
> Bonus: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_kAlsVE5k34

"And stay out there until you learn some respect!"

Rat's body is tossed from the caravan and out into the rain, connecting hard enough with the cobblestone that his vision sparked and blurred. Kodur's voice is a final stab in the side as he curls in on himself.  
His whole body feels... Heavy. He knows he's bruised in more places to count. He knows his nose is still broken - it had never been properly set the first time, and Kodur's frequent rages made sure his face remained off kilter regardless of how hard he could try...  
He knows that this is the consequence for his situation. A consequence for staying where he does...

He's so tired... He can't help it, really. How could he not be? This entire situation is exhausting.  
Rising from the mud he sighs, tongue running over his teeth to clear the dirt and blood. He can taste the shame, resounding from his soul and gripping icy hands around his soul.

The rain is so cold, and the dark is absolutely suffocating.  
The combination is almost more than he can take.

There are no words to describe what he feels, and the lack of language feels like torture to the scribe.  
There is nothing that he can say to put this situation into perspective, and the horror of that loneliness drips off his tongue as he sobs helplessly.

Nothing can be done. Nothing can be said or referenced.  
The nothingness wraps its way around his throat, and chokes every bit of his knowledge from his head, leaving him dulled and exhausted against the ground.

He feels like he's back on the street, the taste of blood in his mouth and the stark realization the he had been tricked fresh in his mind.  
Every moment of horror, every moment where he had been more down than up...  
He lays in the rain, and sifts through the bullet list of memories, tucking this moment in with the rest, and hoping that he could look back, someday.

And be further away from it then he is now.


	6. Burning bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In sickness and in health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 6  
> Prompt: Sacrifice  
> Pairings: Pharous/Narean  
> TWs: Sickness, I think that's it  
> Bonus: https://66.media.tumblr.com/3ca50ba97930efbd927ec6cc1eefb0ac/tumblr_pgbhqzFLg11uvnyf7o1_540.png

Narean had never truly experienced something like this before...  
Sickness without respite. Illness without the coin to fix it.  
A result of being poor - one that he hadn't thought of.

Pharous laid prone in front of him.  
The drow had been quietly asleep for hours now, the little medicine they had been able to afford between them having knocked him out in minutes.  
Narean can hear every breath, the wheezing crest highlighting the strangled inhale and wrapping cold fingers of dread around his heart.

They were dirt poor at the moment, the lack of adventuring work had left their pockets bare and their stomachs aching for the longest time now...  
And when Pharous had started coughing it felt like the final thing cementing this situation as the worst possible one to be in.

He had insisted he was fine, waving off Narean's concern every time the high-elf brought it up. But over time the cough only got worse, stealing his breath away in fits and bursts - bringing Narean to his side in concern every time.  
It had reached a peak two nights ago, when the coughing left him bent over and retching onto the ground outside their tent - the heat of his fever having driven him from Narean's arms minutes before.  
The fever had not let up since that night.

But that incident... Was not currently the one on his mind.

He remembers hours ago, when he'd decided that enough was enough - that the last bit of their coin would be better used towards whatever medicine he could get his hands on, whatever they had been saving it up for be damned. And, after casting invisibility on the tent and confirming once again that his companion was asleep, he threw his pack over his shoulder and headed out towards town.

The apothecary was small and comfortable, the smell of incense heavy in the air and the friendly face of a wood elf beaming at him from behind the counter.  
Though the comfort didn't last, when from behind a rack of herbs he hears the wood elf laugh, a high giggle teeming with something... Familiar.  
Amber eyes stare him down from between the shelves up until he steps in front of the counter and then they blink, slow and languid. They know something, and every inch of their creeping smile reveals that.

They say his name like a prophecy, the syllables all but dripping from their lips. They say it in the eleven tongue, but the dialect is so achingly etched into his memory that his stomach twists the moment he hears it.  
As he pays for the herbs they tell him quietly that his nation is still looking for him - what a let down to his parents his disappearance must be, his refusal to return home an insult of the highest sort.  
In the same breathe they tell him how much his return is worth, how every hair on his head would bring them so much more wealth than whatever coin he could give them, and even offers an impromptu hair-cut - an amused smirk and a laugh crawling up their throat.  
He could only laugh in return, uncomfortable and heavy before emptying his wallet into their hand, and retreat back to the campsite at a pace like the town behind him had been set alight.

And now Narean sits, cross-legged and heavy-hearted.

It hadn't been to hard to find the scissors, tucked away at the bottom of the sewing kit his mother had loaned him, one of the only trinkets that he had taken with him when he left.  
They're every bit as luxurious as everything he had left behind, silver metal sharpened meticulously and golden handles ingrained with intricate patterns that felt heart-achingly foreign regardless of their home origin.

His fingers had already swept his hair up and over his shoulder, nimble fingers acting on instinct to braid the long strands into a compact braid - the pattern ending at the base of his neck, tied off at either end with a simple silk ribbon.  
The last bridge connecting him back to his family - over 100 years of life gripped within his hand.

The cold of the night air meets his lungs as he takes a deep breath.  
He steels his nerves. Steadies his grasp. And presses his fingers down against the scissors handles.

And the last bridge goes up in flames.


	7. In the aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bonus for the last chapter, but like... It's own thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 7  
> Prompt: Confusion  
> Pairings: Pharous/Narean  
> TWs: Sickness mentioned,  
> Bonus: [None]

The sickness took a few days to fade, and Pharous' full consciousness took even longer to drift back into the land of the living.  
He remembers from within the fevered haze being transported from tent to carriage interior, onto a collection of blankets as plush as he could imagine.  
Distantly he can hear Narean speaking, the vocal tics and flowing accent a simple comfort among the growing confusion and discomfort of his situation. To unconscious to make sense of anything, but just conscious enough to collect the clues.

So when the fever finally fades, and he wakes up with the cough dissipated into the far back of his throat, everything around him is different. Everything seems new.  
It hits hardest when he pushes away the curtain between the cabin and the seat, Narean glancing over his shoulder and beaming at the sight of him...  
And Pharous's heart clenches, falling away into his stomach like lead.

"What... What happened?" He asks the words carefully, several days of unused pairing with the scratch of still present illness to make the sentence hoarse and unpleasant regardless.

Narean flinches, raising his hand to brush his fingers against the short locks of hair framing his face before his grin fades from joy into sheepishness.  
The change was... More than noticeable. Going from hair that fell just a bit below his hips to an amount that barely reached the base of his neck...  
Pharous was left stunned, head still swimming with delirium and now highlighted with wild confusion.

"I had to pay off some stuff. Turns out I have a bit of a bounty on me... So... I gave someone an offer, and 100gp to stay quiet about it. Even hints about my whereabouts are worth thousands right now, and I thought it might throw them off our tail for a bit... The apothecary didn't seem to mind much either way, really."

Pharous can only laugh, a soft and breathy sound just above a whisper and drenched in disbelief, and sit himself down besides the high elf.

"The medicine was to expensive to afford any other way, Pharo. We had dirt for money, and you'd be damned before I go out on a job on my own."

Pharous struggles to suppress another laugh and instead cuffs the back of Narean's head gently.  
The confusion had lessened into a quiet sort of interest as he threads his fingers through crimson locks, shocked at the softness that still remained despite the obviously rushed cut.

"It looks nice."


	8. Mustn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issues of contact arise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 8  
> Prompt: Mustn't be touched  
> Pairings: Casiver/Theo  
> TWs: [None]  
> Bonus: [None]

"I mustn't be touched." Casiver's words are quiet, murmured into the crook of her arm as her fingers continue to turn the tuning pegs of her violin.

Theo's face pulled up slightly, a disgruntled expression passing over her features before fading.   
Her hand dropped from Casiver's shoulder and brushes instinctually against her tunic, old habits she supposes.

"Who told you that?" She can't help asking. She knows the question is far to heavy - coating her tongue and the atmosphere in lead moments after it's spoken. But her curiosity gets the better of her, and her empathy only serves as back up to her reasoning.

Casiver is quiet for a long moment, lowering her instrument from her face and down to her side. Her expression is solemn and her silver eyes narrowed in what Theo can tell is thought.  
Finally, her voice broke through the fog - slipping from between clenched teeth with a sigh and a shrug.

"Nobody. It's a solution I discovered myself."

The reality is a shattering one, digging into Theo's heart like a million pieces of broken glass, and her mouth refuses to close itself out of the shock.  
Her brain is... Terrifyingly empty. She can't think of a single response in the wake of the wave of words that had swept her feet out from under her, and suddenly she feels so much less of a protector then she felt only seconds before.

Casiver's breath escapes her mouth once again and the steady rise-fall of her chest stutters for a the blink of an eye, before she shakes her head and raises the violin back up to her chin.  
Her fingers return to the tuning pegs, and Theo's mind returns back to her body.  
And the situation ends in silence.


	9. Of bleeding feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sacrifice for purpose - something kenkus are known to struggle with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 9  
> Prompt: We can't do this  
> Pairings: Rat/Koom  
> TWs: Suggestions at self harm/Mentions of self harm, Serious content  
> Bonus: https://www.dndbeyond.com/magic-items/8698-cloak-of-bleeding-feathers

"Wha- Koom, we can't do this." Rat says, tightening his grip on Koom's wrist desperately.

Koom sneers, expression incredulous as if Rat had just effectually spat on his very name, eyes narrowing.

"Why?" The word is simple, spoken in Rat's voice exactly, and the tabaxi feels his stomach twist in response.

"I- You have less health then I do! And a strong wind could blow me down if it tries hard enough!" Rat shakes his head, stuck in a feeling of utter disbelief. "I thought this was... I thought this was like an at will wings of flying! I didn't know you had to be hurt to use it!"

Koom snatches his wrist away, a sigh whistling from his beak as he runs a hand through the feathers on top of his head.

"I thought - you might - do this. - I didn't want to say anything. - I thought - you might - be angry."

Rat balks, hand dropping to his side and expression contorting until it is almost completely unreadable.

"Of course I'm angry! Why wouldn't I be? You can't use that thing, I don't even think we should keep looking for it!" He exclaims, reaching up to grasp at his ears anxiously. "This is important information, and you kept it from me!"

"You would have - wanted - to talk about it!"

"Of course I would have wanted to talk about it! This thing is dangerous, and that's not even talking about _why_ you kept this from me! What were you planning on doing when we got it?"

A dog's growl filtered through Koom's beak and he pushed past Rat, shoving his shoulder as he went and continuing on down the alleyway.  
Rat yelps, glaring the back of Koom's head and following him step for step.

"How hurt were you planning on staying?! Staying at a quarter of your health is barely anything, you'd have one foot in the grave for the rest of your life!" Rat is struggling to keep his voice from rising to a screech, horror tearing at his chest as he struggles to keep up with the now practically jogging Kenku. "This isn't worth dying! This isn't worth hurting yourself!"

Koom turned on heel, fists balling so hard at his sides Rat knew there would be punctures from his talons later.

"You don't understand!" The exclamation comes out unnaturally loud, the familiar lilting elven accent pulled tortuously over a rack of volume increase.

And Rat stopped in the middle of his stride, the twisting in his stomach suddenly transforming into a sudden, sharp pain, as if the words had stabbed him.  
He would have recognized Petkoris' voice from a mile away, the accent and tone whispering past his ears and raising his hackles with such intensity that he felt like his soul had escaped from his body.

Koom froze, hands flying open and slamming down on top of his beak. His eyes are wide and wild as Rat takes a handful of steps back and stumbles onto the ground, landing with a soft "oof" on his backside.

"I didn't - Teknie - Oh spirits." The words come out choppier than usual as he moves forward, dropping onto his knees besides the tabaxi.


	10. Something to see, Something to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Felwick's turn to muse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 10  
> Prompt: Somethin' to say  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: [None]  
> Bonus: [None]

Felwick considered himself a bit more observational than others would.  
Sure, he thinks it's something innate to gnomish kind. They were used to being the prey to those willing enough to snatch them up in their claws or fangs or golden charismatic words. So many of them had become quick and clever for that reason exactly, learning to read every face in the crowd for signs of malice and collecting armories to survive worlds meant for people less kind then them.

That's why they sit at the back of this caravan, watching the spectacle of performance from a small crevice of space between to ill-fitting boards of oak wood in the side.  
They watch the half-elf practically float around the makeshift stage -a small circle of dirt that he had packed down in the dead of the night while Felwick pretended to sleep-, throwing out flowery words like dice on a gambling board and prestidigitation spells like cheap wine.  
This town is the down to earth sort, blacksmiths and breadmakers that have had so little contact with spell-casters that the show going on before their eyes is more magic then the faker's light show that Felwick finds himself frowning at.

Petkoris didn't seem like a bad person. In fact he sensed very little ill will from him at all.  
Not in the way that he wasn't capable of violence, Felwick knew very well that he was more than capable...  
But that he was far to tired to do anything violent without proper reason. The exhaustion that clung to his body was to heavy for one to hide alternative motives. He was being genuine in his hospitality. And hey, he had stepped in to save them when no one else had even made a move to do so.

However, there were things that Felwick couldn't help but be bothered by.  
Nothing that screamed of hidden malice - the sort of thing that would bother most gnomes...  
But little signs of something just below the surface. The stream of a story tucked just under the conman's skin.

The scar is the most obvious thing, really.  
Hidden just beneath the collar of his armor, thin and pale across the expanse of his neck - a dagger scar. Felwick knew those well.  
The less obvious things where more behavioral. The endless nights without sleeping. The suspicion in his voice whenever the two of them spoke. The faint yet haughty sense of moral superiority - though, of the less annoying sort. The manic sort of activity bursts...

Felwick sighs and leans their body against the wall as the door besides him opens and Petkoris strides through moments later, boots clicking against the wooden floor and a snicker pouring from the back of his throat.  
For a passing moment though he pauses, heel kicking back against the door to close it and eyes focusing in on Felwick with a confused sort of concerned irritation.

 

"You look like you have somethin' to say." The tone is more musing, but there's an edge to it that Felwick can't ignore.

".....nope...."


	11. Protecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pharous protects what requires protection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 11  
> Prompt: Protection  
> Pairings: Pharous/Narean  
> TWs: Blood mentioned, Assault suggested, Violence  
> Bonus: https://pre00.deviantart.net/2ce6/th/pre/f/2010/139/e/f/wizard__s_staff__iii_by_x_patchwork_pixie_x.jpg

The dull sound of something blunt impacting against skin was followed by a shrill screech -a sound from a voice Pharous knew far to well- and the thud of a body slamming to the ground.

That was all that he needed, launching from the position he had taken, feet pounding against the golden tiles and propelling himself forward with the last of the adrenaline that he could muster to the surface.  
His shoulder slammed against the door harder then he had expected to, and he continued to move forward as the hinges buckled beneath the force. He stumbled a bit, leaning his weight against the staff in his hands to regain his balance and survey the room before him.

When his mind finally caught up with his vision everything screeched to a halt.  
A castle guard had been positioned just behind the door, staring wide eyed at where it had once been and a recovering drow now stood. In one hand he held a quarterstaff, bloodied at the end where it had made contact with...  
Pharous' throat clenched.  
In the guard's other hand was a fistful of rust red hair, a growing patch within his grip darkening into a crimson hue.

Narean. A majority of his body lay limp against the ground, only hoisted slightly by the hair tangled in the guard's fingers.

Magic thrummed through the ash wood staff beneath his hands, and suddenly Pharous felt more than the emptiness for the first time since the noble's disappearance from their shared camp. Anger rages through his stomach and his grip on the staff increases exponentially with every passing moment - until he feels it might break at any moment.

The guard drops Narean within seconds, staggering backwards with his hands out in front of him in defense.  
He's saying something in elven -Pharous can read it falling across his lips in the science of this rage- but it doesn't matter.  
The staff lashes outwards, slamming the guard in the side of the face and knocking him to the ground, but that's not what prompts the wide-eyed stammering from the high elf from his new position.

Pharous can feel the power surge.  
The thrumming of unfamiliar magic beneath his skin is like a distant thunder storm, sparking and nipping at his fingers like electricity.  
It's surprisingly warm, a presence that wraps around his shoulders and cradles his head in a gentle, loving grip, murmurs of love and thanks from every side.

He expects the outward effects aren't pretty.  
But that doesn't matter right now.

The staff comes down again with an explosion of light.


	12. But you don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we try, but we don't succeed.  
> And that's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 12  
> Prompt: Trying, But not succeeding.  
> Pairings: Rat/Koom  
> TWs: [None]  
> Bonus: [None]
> 
> I'm so tired my writing sucks right now I am so sorry.

If there was one thing Rat found himself amused by, it was the kenku's affinity for high-up places.

Koom could almost always be found on the city rooftops, hopping from building to building with fairly little trouble. He was always skyward bound and intent on places far above his tabaxi companion's head.

Rat knows why that is. Kenku mourned their loss of flight, regardless of their place in the generations or how disconnected from their curse they felt personally. Koom was coping with something intate to his person, and dealing with it in the only way that he could get his talons on.  
But it's still amusing to watch - ocassionally locking gazes with narrowed obsidian eyes peaking over a roof's edge.

And that's the way it stays in those first few careful months spent within the loft, simply learning one another the best they could between clouds of trauma and guilt and confusion.

It's the third month when the offer first arrives.  
With a flick of his tail and a smirk wrinkling his eyes Koom tosses his legs over Rat's lap and croons.

"I should - teach - you - how to - climb."

Rat quirks an eyebrow and the book he's reading tilts in his grip to rest against Koom's legs.

"How to climb period, or how to climb like you?" He asks, leaning back against the cushions of the couch with a slight chuckle.

Koom rolls his eyes and points at himself. 

"I know - tabaxi - can climb. - But I'm - better." 

Rat knows the words and tones are borrowed, but every single one of them drips with a confidence that no doubt didn't reside in the original context - and the amused expression that follows tell him everything he needs to know.   
And he sighs.

"... I... Sure. Sure."

-

If there was one thing Rat found himself annoyed by, it was his inability to do things that should come naturally to him.

He'd taken Koom up on his offer of climbing lessons, and after several close calls and several more introductions with the ground than he would have liked... He was inches away from giving up.  
His body hurt, and he was quickly growing tired with the thoughts running through his head.

He knows why this is happening, but it doens't make it any easier.   
Balance and climbing come naturally to tabaxis, but they were skills Rat never really had to use... He never had to learn how to climb in order to run away. He never had to learn proper balance in order to hide...

So here he sits on the ledge just outside their loft window, overlooking the slight porch outside the back door, face in his hands and fingers laid comforting on his shoulder from the off-hang of the roof just above his head.   
He'd made it this far, but he was struggling. Having far to much of a struggle finding the right footholds, figuring out where to put his hands, where to sink his claws in or take a softer hold...

Koom murmurs out words of comfort, massaging Rat's shoulder with a sigh.

"You tried. - You tried. - It's okay."

The quiet that follows is heavy, but Rat pulls himself up from the surface of the feeling.

"I know. I know."

The hand removes itself from his shoulder and moves down in front of his face. The rings across the fingers glitter in the low light from behind Rat and he finds himself smiling despite himself.

"I'll - help. You did - so good. Thank you for - trying."


	13. Blueprints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shared interests are important in a friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 13  
> Prompt: Shared interest  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: [None]  
> Bonus: [None]

When Felwick discovered the blueprints their joy was indescribable.

This simple thing.  
Rolled up scrolls of paper hidden in the drawer of the built in writing desk within the caravan.  
Blue tinted parchment with clear, white lettering and simple diagrams - sketches off in various sidelines or corners the only thing offsetting the cleanliness.  
It was the spark for a beaming, wild minded smile. A bolt of happiness straight to his heart..

When Petkoris strode back through the door they were already four blueprints deep and trying desperately to suppress the giddy noises desperately attempting to escape their mouth.  
The half elf was honestly taken aback for a moment, blinking wildly as his brain caught up and eventually his smile caught up as well, a wavering sort of smirk that was partnered with the softest laugh that he could manage.

"So, you found the reject pile, huh?"

Felwick looked up from the paper in his grasp and beamed maniacally. A look so, so close to what Petkoris knew from years ago...

"These are the rejects?!" They ask, jumping to their feet with a giggle so amazing that the sound seemed to stick in the air for forever. "You have to show me the others!"

Petkoris' smile grew out of control at that and he found himself covering his mouth to mask it best that he could. Curiosity always got to him, it seemed.  
Aw hell. What would it hurt to show them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know no one's really paying attention to this series, so I guess that I can admit, without any inherent guilt, that I am starting to get seriously burnt out on this series.
> 
> I am intent on making it through this month. But it's an exhausting concept, and being three days behind already makes it feel impossible to catch up with.
> 
> I'm focused on pulling myself out of this depression caused creative. This is one of those attempts. So I won't let it die. I promise. I just need a nap.


	14. Sunrise (Oak and Life Campaign)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More musings from our local half-elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 14  
> Prompt: Sunrise  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: Brief murder mention  
> Bonus: Fun fact! This is an AU pretty much! It's from a D&D campaign instead of random D&D musings. It's also sort of unfinished. Whatever.

It must be headed somewhere just towards sunrise...

Petkoris stared at the hatch leading to the deck of the ship as he further curled himself inward towards the lantern burning bright and pressed firmly against his chest- a fragile sort of fight against the natural cold of the cargo area where he was sat on one of the many boxes that didn't contain some sort of freakish undead abomination.  
The sun was just beginning to peek above the pseudo-horizon within his vision, and he wondered blearily to himself whether or not the progression across the sky was simply a time thing or their ship flying closer and closer to where the sun itself always seemed to originate.

He hadn't exactly slept since they'd taken back off from living hell number 23, the one featuring; legal crime, drunken ship crew, sentient suits of armor, and a near death experience saved only by...  
He sighs, casting his gaze to the door at his side as if attempting to activate some sort of x-ray vision to stare at what exactly was hiding behind that thin layer of wood that had been re-attached to the doorway with glue and a few lines of grey tape he'd pulled from his haversack (acting the entire time as if he hadn't been carrying around the gigantic roll of tape for the whole journey).

The vampiress just beyond, who he guesses he could now consider his boss, had vanished behind the door with a slamming dramatic flourish. An understandable reaction considering the encounter with the 4th weirdest thing Petkoris had seen on this trip- and the first one that checked off the "instigated the attempt of a mass murder" box for sure...


	15. Healing musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casiver's turn to muse!  
> Healing and recovery is on the menu this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 14  
> Prompt: Trying, But not succeeding.  
> Pairings: Casiver/Theo  
> TWs: Mentions of trauma  
> Bonus: [None]

Casiver's musings had always been the quiet existentialism sort.  
Theo had noticed that over the last month or so the tiefling had spent on the farm. The quiet murmurs of queries under her breath, that sound like they belong more in a philosophy book then in the mouth of a simple bard.

These usually come in the early mornings, while she's still trying to shake herself into full consciousness and functionality.  
Words spoken to herself over a bowl of oatmeal or eggs, just a hair above a breath and just audible enough in the space of the kitchen that Theo has gotten a good class in these thoughts.

Tonight, however?   
It seemed a new semester was upon them, and the subject matter shifted.  
Or, perhaps these classes were just under a different curriculum.

The words weren't quiet this time around, they were spoken from the chest as Casiver lounged back across the bed, half wrapped in the bed's quilt.

"Maybe I need to stop thinking so much and just live..."

Theo blinks slowly, setting the quill in her hand down besides the letter she had been focusing on moments before.  
Her eyes shift to the tiefling, resting her cheek against her hand with a smile.

"Sounds like you've already been doing some thinking tonight." She says, smothering a laugh when Casiver looks back and her face pulls up into one of mild annoyance.

"I guess I have. But... Not the usual sort. I've..." Casiver sighs gently, pulling a deep breath through her teeth - canines glittering in the light of the candle besides the bed. "I've realized I've been thinking about the past a lot recently. Wondering if I... Wondering how much I ruined."

Theo quirks an eyebrow and hooks her foot around the leg of the chair beneath her, turning it to face Casiver head-on.   
She wants to show she's listening, even if she couldn't really add anything to the conversation.  
Casiver's eyes soften slightly and she turns her eyes back to the ceiling, massaging her temple for a moment before she continues speaking.

"I know I've made mistakes. But... I've been thinking about them more than other things recently. They've been clouding my thoughts and I... I'm starting to realize I don't want to live like this anymore. I don't want to live stuck in the past, with the people of the past, when I have a life in front of me and people with me right now." She pauses, dropping her hand back onto the bed with a huff. "I know... I know the things that happened are with me because they're traumatic. I know I have to do some healing. But... I want to heal without having to put myself back there. Back there is a dark place, and even if I have a candle with me now it's still not easy to go through it all."

"I just... I'm going to start focusing on now. Stop thinking so much. I'm thinking myself into a ditch, and into the worst place of my life, and I don't think that's healthy. I shouldn't be slipping like that."

The room is quiet for a moment before Theo sits back in her chair, taking in the sound of Casiver's steady breathing.

"Makes sense."

"Really?"

Theo smiles, turning her chair back towards her desk and scooping the quill back into her hand.

"Look, doll. I might not have gone through some of your issues, but I've been taking my own road towards healing since leaving the guard, and lemme just say that being stuck in the past doesn't help you down that road. I know it's easy to get obsessed with what's happened, and the ways things could've happened if you did things differently. And honestly? I'm proud of you for taking this step back to look at your mindset before moving forward."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2018 is the year of healing, folks


	16. Flashbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks Flashbacks Flashbacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 16  
> Prompt: Noises and memories  
> Pairings: Rat/Koom  
> TWs: Suggestions of abuse, Suggestions of violence  
> Bonus: [See end notes]

The kiss was soft.  
Barely a brush of Koom's beak against his muzzle.

But it was enough. The affection -as genuine as it was- was just enough.  
Every moment from so long ago came rushing back, and Rat found himself paralyzed in seconds.

The scrape of tusks against his lips. Hands pushing against his chest. A low, deep chuckle.

He pulls back from Koom, shaking desperately and bracing a hand against his shoulder.  
He can't help it. The nausea is to intense to quickly, and suddenly he just can't do this.

"I'm- I. Uh..." Rat wipes his free hand over his face and manages a mangled imposter of his smile. "I'm sorry."

Koom pulls back in turn, blinking confusedly for a few moments before simply tilting his head - a slow, gentle coo escaping from in between his beak. His eyes are soft and his voice is even softer when it finally breaks the fearful tension.

"Don't be. - I love you. - You don't have to - tell - me anything. - I don't want to - push you. - You can say - no - if you need to. - If I ever do anything - you don't want - me to. - If I ever - over - step." He murmurs, running a hand over Rat's head with a contented chirp.

The flash of golden eyes in his vision. Breath in his face, smelling of blood. Hands wrapped around his wrists, soon around his throat.  
Tears flooded his sight and his whole body was shaking as he blinked them away, smile descending into a watery sort of fake.

Koom pulls back even farther, pulling his hands from Rat's form and letting loose a string of low, crackling noises akin to foot on cobblestone. Panic in noise form.  
And from their his voice vanishes in lieu of noises.

Rat collapses into the sound of a low, rumbling purr and a pair of soft arms, blubbering tearfully into the kenku's shoulder.

The words were soft.  
Barely a breath above a whisper.

But it was enough.  
Every moment from so long ago began to ebb, and Rat found himself with a pounding headache in the arms of a purring, chittering kenku.

The sound of home. Of his lover. A noise the one in his memories could never understand - never do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In PTSD, a wide range of situations can trigger intrusive memories, including those that do not have an obvious meaningful connection with the trauma."
> 
> "Closer analysis of these situations shows that triggers often have sensory similarities with stimuli present shortly before or during the trauma (e.g., similar color, shape, smell, or body sensation)."
> 
> (Source: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3072671/)


	17. Big kitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me? Writing a story about Casiver, Petkoris, and Rat back before shit went wild? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> For context? Petkoris and Casiver have known each other for about a month after a certain set of circumstances lead them to being run out of the same city at the same time.  
> Bonding over consequences for crimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 17  
> Prompt: Big, stoned, horny kitty with the munchies  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: Drug mentions (?)  
> Bonus: Info and rambling!  
> Rat is a big old stoner sometimes, and I love him. So does Casiver. Petkoris will in time.  
> Also. Casiver's nickname is Cas, Petkoris' are Pet and Koris, and Rat will soon have "Tek"

"I don't particularly trust something with claws that could take my eyes out." 

Casiver finds herself choking on a laugh, wheezing slightly as she suppresses the noise and adjusting the tabaxi laid within her lap to cover up her stumble.  
Rat shifts slightly in response, the purring noise in the back of his throat pausing for a moment before kicking back in full force, nuzzling his face against Casiver's thigh with his eyes flickering behind their lids.

"Oh come on, Pet. He's not some sort of wild cat or something. He's humanoid just like us, and the guild obvious trusts him enough to hand him over to us." Casiver says quietly, moving a hand down to run her fingers through Rat's fur with a smile.

"Sure, the guild has a good sense of people. It's a thieve's guild, Cas. They might have picked us out of the rabble, but honestly I don't trust the other two and I don't trust him either. I might've known you long enough to know you're... Okay. But him? These two? I'm not sure."

"You trust me, right?"

"...Yeah?"

"I trust him. That should give him some sort of boost, right?"

Petkoris sighs and places the horse reigns in his hands up on the pegs on the wall, watching as Rat shifts once again -stretching and settling back in the place he had been.  
The tabaxi didn't look... Threatening... He was smaller than anyone in the group so far, barely 5 feet tall and obviously underweight. Covered head to toe in soft, grey fur spattered with brown splotches. The leather armor was the only thing that suggested he was anything close to a fighter... But from what he'd said he was a warlock, under a fucking knowledge god none the less...  
Nothing that added up to anything obviously malicious.

Casiver smiles, the sides of her eyes creasing up. She knew the softening look in front of her, and the amusement she felt was endless.

"Look, from what w've seen he’s just a big, stoned, horny kitty with the munchies."

Petkoris snorts, rolling his eyes slightly with a sigh.

"Okay... Look... Alright. But I'm keeping at arms length."

"...Fair."


	18. Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two in one day. I'm... Tired.  
> Anyways, Rat's patron god doesn't like unfairness - and even if he's against killing I imagine he loves his supported people enough to help them take down threats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 18  
> Prompt: Honor  
> Pairings: Rat/Koom  
> TWs: Violence (I think?)  
> Bonus: https://roll20.net/compendium/dnd5e/Guiding%20Bolt#content

Rat was usually more honorable....  
But this? This was far beyond the sort of thing that he would honor.

Koom was laid out on the floor, twitching softly with the remainder of the electricity still surging through his body.  
The wizard they had been fighting was stood in front of him, smiling wickedly, head tilted slightly to the side as he regarded Rat with an almost disappointed expression.

"Oh dear... Looks like it's only the cat left. Let me guess, another rogue? Your kind isn't typically very creati-"

He hadn't even ended the sentence when the guiding bolt went off, the force of the spell blowing Rat's hood down and exposing the infuriated expression that had been hidden before, lips pulled back and eyes wide and dilated to hell and back.  
The feeling of hands around his wrist, steadying his hand and unlocking every gate between him and his magic was the only thing he could perceive behind the haze of bright red rage.

48 points of damage was enough.  
And the wizard's body crumpled.  
And Rat was at Koom's fallen form in milliseconds, the hands on his wrists shifting to his back to push him forward.

He was never one for using magic to kill. He was a celestial. He was a healer.  
And three healing lights later the proof of that was awake and groaning.

Koom sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the body of the wizard before nodding slightly.

"Good. - Good. - Dead. - Dead. - We'll be - okay."

The rage wouldn't shake, and Rat could only breathe.  
He was usually more honorable...  
But not today.  
Not this.  
Not with him.  
Not now.  
Another healing light and Koom was back on his feet, and Rat couldn't shake the anger regardless.  
But the hands on his back, shifting to his ears in a moment's time, served to comfort him enough to continue forward.


	19. Cold and wintery feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I FUCKING *LOVE* WINTER.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 19  
> Prompt: Winter wonderland  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: [None]  
> Bonus:[None]

The comforting cold.  
The gentle wind.  
The longer, darker nights...

Winter was approaching, and Casiver could not be more excited.

Casiver particularly liked the weather around this type of year.  
She could layer as many clothes on her form as possible, hiding beneath a million silken and fabric scarves and more sweaters than she could fit into her bag.

She thanked every god that came into her mind that her hind legs were more indicative of her than she would say, the white fluff of her inner-thighs perfectly matched against freshly fallen snow.  
Deer were well aclimated to colder climates, and over the years she found herself more and more excited for the approach of the winter weather.

It wasn't until she awoke one morning, and the sharp smell of snow hit the back of her throat, that she felt joy finding its way back into her heart.  
She jumped to her hooves and practically bolted down the stairs, throwing on a jacket and the first scarf she could get her hands on on the way down.

"Woah, woah, woah!!" Theo's voice sounded from the kitchen as she rushed by it. But they were only syllables lost to the wind as she flung herself through the doorway and out into the air. 

Her body hit the powder with a faint "fluff" sort of sound, barely audible over the roaring shriek of her laughter.


	20. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felwick gets a bit of a confidence boost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 20  
> Prompt: Scars and such  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: Talk about self harm, specific mentions of cutting/burning.  
> Bonus: https://www.themix.org.uk/mental-health/self-harm/dealing-with-urges-to-self-harm-5698.html

When Felwick and Petkoris had first met it was already the depths of the fall.  
The cold weather had driven Petkoris into his winter clothing already, his lithe elven form not a benifit in this sort of climate - leaving him shivering a bit regardless of how many layers he put on.  
Felwick had comfortably tucked himself into his winter jacket, the fuzzy interior a familar warmth in this new situation.

But now, as spring swung around the corner and summer was on the border of existence, Felwick began to feel a palatable sort of discomfort.

They sigh, hand finding its way within his sleeve and brushing their fingers along the thin, raised lines across his forearm.  
He supposes that discomfort is natural, regardless of how long this had been their situation. Every summer, even back home, had brought with it uncomfortable short-sleeved shirts and skirts, shorts and tanktops, swimsuits and less-than-modest sleeping arrangements...

Their mind turns to his companion.  
Petkoris, who had began switching to his summer clothes in the midst of the heat. Low necklines and short sleeves. Dresses and skirts intermixed with breathable tops and lower cut shorts. They can tell where the elven heritage rests within his blood - a bewitching, supernatural sort of beauty only brought out by the warmer weather's clothing.

Though, with the exposure comes things Felwick hadn't seen before.   
Sure, the scar across Petkoris' throat was more noticeable at this point, a light mark across freshly tanned skin.   
But, there were ones that were new even to Felwick. Angry red lines along the outside of his thighs, spotted just below the rise of his short, and across the expanse of his shoulders, visible between fabrics of tanktops and silken, semi-opaque shirts - burn marks, from what Felwick could tell.   
Self-harm was something that Felwick didn't wish upon anyone, but the solidarity that they felt the first time he spotted it was indescribable.   
And that wasn't even factoring in Petkoris' seeming confidence in these marks, magic coverup at his fingertips but remaining unused.

Felwick takes in a breath and pushes a sigh out between their front teeth. They'd been thinking about this for far to long. Thinking and not doing wasn't good for gnomes, at least that's what his mother had always said...  
They roll up their sleeves and pull a bobby pin from their hair, sliding it up against the fabric and pinning it up best that he could.  
A baby step, really. But the only one he could find himself comfortable taking.  
They stand quietly, and take their first stride out of the caravan - beaming at Petkoris sat on the log just outside.

"Well well well. Took you long enough."


	21. Toxic by name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felwick shares some information, Petkoris does the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge  
> Day 21  
> Prompt: Names  
> Pairing: [None]  
> TWs: Suggestions at toxic home lives.  
> Bonus: I have emotions about names. That is all.

"Do you have any other names?" The question came quietly. Barely a hushed whisper atop the darkness around them.

The book in Felwick's hands droops a bit, and despite themselves they glance over the pages to the question-asker in front of them.  
Petkoris is staring back, but only for a few moments, before his eyes drop back to the wooden statue within his hand, quickly settling back into whittling away at it.

"I... I don't know if that's rude to ask? But, the last gnome I was friends with told me that it was rude to not know them after the first few months of friendship... But... I don't know... She might've purposely thrown me off to be... Bitchy."

Felwick can't help but sigh, a feeling of relief and understanding culminating in a sort of sorrow they don't remember feeling for a long, long time. But, as they set their book across their lap he manages a smile.

"I don't, actually... When I left home, I left them behind. I told myself that I was starting over, completely anew. And with all of the meaning that goes into every name, a gnome can't start a new life without leaving their names behind. Every single one is like a name in itself, and I chose the only one that had any meaning to me personally, and wasn't assigned meaning by people I didn't even consider family anymore."

They hear Petkoris suck in a huge breath from behind his teeth before releasing it with a sigh, the soft sound of dagger blade slicing through oak wood the only other sound for minutes until the half-elf finally speaks again.

"I... Don't blame you. I think my name is the only thing I had when I left home.-"

Felwick raises an eyebrow. Ah, trivia he hadn't heard before. Interesting.

"-I took my name, and my mom's last name, and a backpack, and I think that's it... I can sympathize. I'm sorry you had to do that."

"It's not an issue. I'll get new ones. With new meanings, and better sources. I'm not angry about having to leave something toxic behind. A bit sorrowful over the loss? Sure. But it's better in the long run to be healthy than it is to keep reminders of toxicity."


	22. Warm and cozy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I just really like winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 22  
> Prompt: Spiked  
> Pairings: Casiver/Theo  
> TWs: Alcohol mention  
> Bonus: [None]

"Hot chocolate?" 

Casiver sits up in bed, blinking blearily and rubbing the sleep from her eyes - focusing on Theo standing within the doorway, a familiar wooden tray in hand.   
Drinks.  
She perks up, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and planting her hooves firmly on solid ground, shaking off the last watery feelings of unconsciousness and beaming pleasantly.

"I wouldn't mind." She says, unused vocal chords struggling for a moment before she clears her throat and continues. "I think I can finally feel my hands again, so that's helpful."

Theo laughs, rolling her eyes slightly and plopping down onto the bed besides the Tiefling.   
She extends the tray outwards, revealing a singular cup of hot chocolate, still steaming slightly and packed to the brim with whipped cream and marshmallows.

Casiver doesn't hesitate a moment, slipping her hand into the handle and raising the cup to her lips.  
The rich chocolate taste is broken up by a bitter, warm note, almost burning. It hits the back of her throat wild and hot, like cinnamon.  
Spiked. Sneaky.  
She throws Theo and amused look over the rim of the cup.

"You spent awhile out in the cold, thought you might like something to warm you up completely. I don't know if it help y' folk, but I know nothing's better than homemade whiskey after a cold work day."

"Mm." Casiver hums against the edge of the cup, teeth brushing against the porcelain for a moment before she pulls away completely. "You know me better than I thought." She jokes, free hand moving to prod Theo gently in the ribs.

Theo dodges the movement fluidly, flicking Casiver's fingers gently and laughing into the knuckles of her other hand. 

"You've been here for nearly a year, doll. I'd say I better know you by now, or somethin's up!"


	23. Best Written Regards.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rat feels the bitterness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 23  
> Prompt: Best regards  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: [None]  
> Bonus: [None]

Rat's ear twitches and he pushes them down almost on instinct.

"He... He was obsessed with the legacy of his people. A long line of ruthless warriors, known throughout history for their lack of heart..."

He breathes, quietly, picking at his hands with an anxiousness that he can't shake.

"So he turned into a monster underneath our noses. And our lives became a slow, burning, living hell on earth. A frog in boiling water... Only one of us escaped when the water got to hot to handle... One of us never made it out. And I've been... Boiled alive."

"But.... I don't want to sit around anymore. Refusing to heal my burns, and letting the infection kill me. He took so much away from me... He had such a tight grip on my life for so long..."

Silence. Quiet.  
A hard line of nothing but the sound of crickets from outside of their window.

"But not anymore. I'm in control again. And I swear on whatever is left of my 9 lives, I will remind him of one thing; I'm a scribe, working under Deneir- under the wonderful rule of Ohgma... If I put enough time into it, I could erase him from history, one book at a time. One page after another."

"One day he will realize, I am all that's left of his legacy. I am his legacy. WE WERE HIS LEGACY!"


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casiver recalls. More bitterness is to be had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 24  
> Prompt: Best regards .2  
> Pairings: Casiver/Theo (not explicit, they're just girlfriends)  
> TWs: Death ment ?, General bad stuff  
> Bonus: [None]

"Kodur was...Evil." Casiver breathes. "There's no other way to describe the things that he's done."

Theo nods slowly, sipping her drink as casually as she could manage in a context like this."

"He was intent on the betrayal of a party member. A half-elf merchant. He was apparently not bringing in enough for our group... He was trying his hardest, but he was bringing less than all of us... Kodur insisted that there was no other way to handle it... We needed the transport, and we needed the stock the caravan carried... But we didn't need the person anymore... He insisted that it was the only option..."

Theo can't keep herself from flinching. She has a feeling -dark and tearing at her heart- that she knew where this was going.

"I had to leave. I couldn't stay in the group. He already had the cleric on his side - they'd been good friends for years before this. And once they talked the warlock onto their side... I was outnumbered three to one. My only option was to run away... So I did. I packed up my tent, and all of my belongings into my haversack, and I left."

"I remember that moment. I looked over my shoulder before I left. I wish I hadn't. I remember seeing the half-elf, watching me from the border of the camp. His eyes were... So Sad. But the sight of Kodur behind him, hand on his shoulder... It nearly made me sick."

Theo finds her bottom lip between her teeth in a millisecond, horror and anxiety rolling in her stomach. The story unfolding before her was... Terrible to hear.

"But what else was I supposed to do? A bard and a rogue against a barbarian, cleric, and warlock? All more powerful than us? How would we have taken them on? I... I regret doing nothing. But I think... I think it was the only thing I could do."


	25. Pleasurable escape (Campaign AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rat takes some time to take something back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 25  
> Prompt: Taken back  
> Pairings: Rat/Koom  
> TWs: Suggestive content, drug ment, alcohol ment.  
> Bonus: [None]

The Tressym. The tall, almost overwhelmingly large statues of a woman with the head of a cat. The... Shocking lack of full-cover clothing.

Rat could not be more excited.  
Every sign pointed in one direction. One deity.

Sharess.  
They were in a city, filled to the brim with worshipers of Sharess.

Mother of Cats. Feline of Felicity. Succubus of Sensation. The Tawny Temptress.  
Domains of lust and pleasure. Sensual fulfillment and hedonism.

Rat couldn't get out of the wagon quick enough. The eyes of passerby were burning into his pelt. Every astonished and ecstatic expression was making his skin itch with a sort of need that he hadn't experienced in years.  
His paws hit the dust hard enough to jostle his very consciousness, and he was running before he could even process the sound of his new team's caption shouting after him.

He practically tumbled into the arms of the temple priestess, pupils blown wide and wild chittering escaping his lips.  
She reacted in similar excitement, excited giggling and tugging at his arms, pulling him in towards the temple.  
-  
Hands seemed to be coming from every direction.  
Pressed into the plush of his fur. Dug into the skin of his ears, various pressures from slight to the harsh bite of sharpened nails. Contented fingers wrapped around his tail, massaging, pulling, gentle tugs just enough to be pleasant. 

His blood was pounding to the beat of the band nearby. Red hot fire filled to the brim with drugs unnameable and so much booze he had lost count of the number of shots he had taken. He knew he had to have gotten his hands back on catnip, the burning wild fire beneath his pelt completely untamable.

Crooning voices in his ears, prompting him backwards into a tangle of arms and pleasure.  
He was shaking apart at the seams.  
He was living in this moment of reclamation. Tearing something that used to be so innate from of the arms of someone undeserving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize but a huge part of Rat's being exists in these moments.


	26. Between the curve of his back and his hips lies a scar.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rat's trust is fucked over. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 26  
> Prompt: Stabbed  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: Stabbing, bodily harm, bood ment.  
> Bonus: [None] (Actually! This was the first prompt in the whumptober prompt list. Is that a bonus?)

The attack had come... So suddenly.

Rat hadn't even managed to react since the blade had found its place in the skin of his lower back, struggling through a few stumbled steps and dropping onto the dusty cobblestones beneath his feet.

Distantly he can hear the roar of his team jumping into action.  
The hissing shriek of a kenku, familiar and unfamiliar in so many ways.  
The explosion of magic colliding with a body, sending his attacker stumbling back just as unceremoniously as he had.  
The reeving of machinery followed quickly by the snap of a cross-bow string.

Hands wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him up and dragging him away from the spot that he had landed. A commanding voice in his ears ordered that he stay awake and a hand pressing on leather of his armor, holding the dagger in place but luckily staunching some of the blood loss.  
The darkness in his vision feels almost all-consuming as he's set onto his side, the shouting for medical help overwhelmingly loud in his ears.

Faintly, he finds himself amused and alarmed all at the same time.

They really hadn't prepared themselves for if he went down. Their main healing party. The only natural healer...

Distress is the only thing he feels as he slips into unconsciousness.


	27. Handling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blah blah blah hand symbolism blah blah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 27  
> Prompt: Bloody hands  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: Blood ment  
> Bonus: I did fair the 30 day challenge, but yeah. Another prompt from whumptober.

Petkoris' hands are well worn.  
Slightly calloused from carpentry. Slightly smoothed from the oil he used to soothe the pain in his joints when it got to bad - the rose scented stuff that was far to expensive to buy regularly, just enough to be a luxurious sort of self-care.  
They were important in his work, full of gestures and emphasis. 

(Good at handling a set of thieve's tools. The sort of thing that requires a steady grip and a eye for detail that was more than natural to him.   
Dad would be so proud.)

His fingers remember more than his mind does, at this point.  
His first brush with the carving knife, a sharp sting and then a fading, burning pain.  
His first handful of coins, heavy with copper, silver, and gold.  
His first professional handshake, tight and almost overwhelming, simple and quick like the swoop of his fake name across parchment.

The fade into reality, digits pulling away stained in crimson and betrayal.


	28. Had to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rat has a moment. And it isn't a pleasant one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic type: 30 day writing challenge.  
> Day 28  
> Prompt: I had no choice/I had to do it.  
> Pairings: [None]  
> TWs: Blood, Murder suggested, violence suggested, dissociation suggested.  
> Bonus:

“I had to do it." Rat said quietly, to no one in particular.

The blood washed down the shower, spiraling around the drain and eventually away as the warm water cascaded down onto him.  
Crimson stains faded from his fur, and alongside finally came out from beneath his claws after a few minutes of scrubbing.  
His hands had been soaked to nearly the elbows, but in moments it was gone. Every hint that something had occurred gone in far less time then it had taken to get them there.

The home-like feel around him felt wrong after everything that had happened in the last few days, and the content whistling that came from somewhere in the house only made him feel worse.  
He didn't belong here. Not after all that he had seen. Not after that.  
Not after what he had done.

Rat takes extra time to scrub down his entire body, digging the sponge -coated in a fruity smelling soap that would have been pleasant any other time that was not now- into his skin as if the sting would make it all go away.

"I had to do it." He repeats, just slightly above a whisper, a re-affirmation for himself and himself only. "I had to do it. He was going to kill me.”

He turns the shower off with a squeak of the handle, and as the steam fades and the last of the water slips by his feet and down the drain he finds himself disconnected. Further then he had been in years. Far from his body, far from his existence.  
Thoughts overtook reality, flashes of red and searing hot pain. Of shouting, orcish and tabaxi. An anguished scream sounding in gnomish, demanding what had happened - what had he done?

Rat steps from the shower, feeling worse then he had entered it.  
He drags the towel across his fur, and swears, for a moment.  
That the fabric comes back stained red.  
But with a blink of the eye...  
The illusion faded.  
And he was left.

Reassuring himself that he had been given no other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still feel ashamed over never finishing this challenge, but whatever.  
> I'm depressed. Have some trauma musings.


End file.
